Berceuse
by only breath
Summary: Draco has an odd psychic ability, wherein he dreams every single moment of his next day during his sleep. But when his unwelcome insomnia worsens, he must get help from the only person who knows how to help him: Hermione Granger.
1. Ballad of the Shunned

**Berceuse**

**Chapter One: Ballad of the Shunned**

**By _only breath_**

**OOO**

"I'll be okay, Mum. Promise," Hermione said quietly, forcing a shaky smile onto her face. She knew that it was more of like a grimace – luckily, no one was there to hear her whispered promise and see her not-quite-genuine smile. The living room was so empty with her parents gone – no amount of furniture could fill up the space. At least not in Hermione's opinion.

She sighed as her eyes did a final sweep of the room. Rain pattered softly against the windows, the hearth empty of a fire. A dusty grand piano sat beside the barely-used couches that faced a row of pictures – of _memories_ – missing Hermione. Her only companion, Dexter the shiny blue fish, swam around lazily in his large tank. A special apparatus that dispensed food into the water at fixed times was fastened to the edge of the tank, meaning that when Hermione came back Dexter would be a huge fish.

With quick pull of her trunk, she was out the door and walking with as purposeful a stride as she could manage down the road as the gentle rain refreshed her.

This was her final year. She wanted to make it count. _Needed_ to.

And with those final thoughts, she strode onward.

When she arrived, the platform was a flurry of activity as she clumsily weaved around crying family members bidding the kids goodbye. Steam poured from the Hogwarts Express and hung in the air, decreasing visibility and making things more chaotic. Hermione muttered a long string of apologies as her trunk hit other people's legs in her rush to find her friends.

The crowds weren't thinning, despite it being a few minutes till eleven o'clock. Hermione was completely lost in the crowd and her hair was frizzing up horribly thanks to the steam. Groaning with reluctant defeat, she began to make her way to the train.

"Hermione?" came a voice.

She swung around, accidentally hitting Neville's stomach with her elbow in the process.

"Oh! Neville, I'm so sorry," Hermione cried frantically, wringing her hands as Neville clutched his stomach with a pained expression.

"I'm fine," Neville wheezed, bending over and coughing. When he finally stood up again properly, Hermione flung her arms around him tightly, possibly making his coughing worse.

"I haven't seen you for so long, and I've missed you and – oh, God, _please_ tell me how you've been!" Hermione shouted happily in a ramble, filled to the brim with joy at the sight of one of her friends. After everything to do with the war was cleared up, Hermione had spent her weeks with Dexter the fish, and he wasn't exactly the best company for a human to have. Sometimes Hermione wished she could have conversations with him, but she always ended up going off in a tangent in a monologue.

"I've been great, Hermione," Neville said, grinning goofily at Hermione's burst of enthusiasm. "You?"

"Um... well, the holidays were boring," Hermione replied honestly, "but I'm so happy to be here."

"So am I," Neville sighed happily. "Where are Harry and Ron?"

"They're... not coming," Hermione said sadly. "Auror training and things. They don't really need their final year of schooling."

Neville looked so disappointed that Hermione regretted answering, until a pale hand slipped into his and his expression lit up like a thousand candles.

"Hello, Hermione," Luna greeted breezily. She seemed to have matured over the holidays – well, she had gotten rid of her odd radish earrings and bottlecap necklace. Her overall demeanour, though, was still distant and dreamy, as if she were constantly in the stars. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up into the shape of a bow, which both fascinated and amused Hermione.

"Hi, Luna," Hermione said with a grin, before enveloping her in a hug. Luna seemed unsurprised and returned the gesture enthusiastically.

"_All aboard!_"

"Quick, the train!" Neville shouted over the whistling of steam from the Hogwarts Express. Neville, Luna and Hermione ran as fast as possible while dragging trunks behind them and just managed to make it onto the train before it began its journey down the railway tracks. Sighing with relief, Hermione followed the others to another compartment.

Her smile began to make her face ache when she saw Ginny, Seamus and Dean all sitting together. Putting her trunk away, she entered the compartment after Neville and Luna.

"Hermione!" Ginny cried out, jumping up and squeezing Hermione as though her life depended on it. When she pulled away, Hermione could have sworn that she hastily wiped away a tear.

"Hello, everyone. It's great to see you," Hermione laughed as Ginny took her seat again.

"You too," Dean and Seamus replied in unison with delight audible in their tone.

Hermione felt like she was swimming in a pool of pure euphoria. The simple familiarity of it all made her so happy – exchanging greetings, sitting with people she had known for seven years... The only thing that was different was the fact that her _best_ friends weren't coming.

"How's everyone, then?" Seamus asked. Everybody began to talk at once and then burst into laughter, and Hermione dearly hoped that they all could be this happy for the rest of the year. But she knew it was just like eating sugar. After the initial burst of joy at seeing each other once again, it would die down and they would have to face up to the general gloominess that seemed to invade all of Wizarding London. They would become tired and sad, and it would take something big to give them another sugar boost.

When night came along, only Ginny, Dean and Hermione remained in the compartment. The rest had gone off saying hello to everyone. Dean and Ginny were slowly stuffing themselves with Cauldron Cakes – several hours of constant eating had not done them any good, but it seemed now like they were just eating out of boredom. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet, purposefully avoiding the list of names belonging to dead people, which was updated with each new edition of the paper.

"Seems awfully melancholy, doesn't it?" Hermione mused while the others facing her silently munched on their food.

"Of course it does," Dean said, swallowing his mouthful.

"But a war just ended," Hermione pointed out. "Shouldn't we be rejoicing?"

"For peace you must first have war, and for war you must have sacrifices. People are still getting over the deaths, Hermione," Ginny said, and Hermione was saddened to hear the pained tone of her voice. She had lost her own _brother_. "There will be a time when everyone will celebrate – well, people are celebrating right now, but just... not a lot. They need to move past the sadness of losing everyone. Do you know what they're going to do in the second week of school?"

"What?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed.

"Funerals, Hermione," Dean answered for Ginny. "They're holding the funerals for everyone who died in the final battle. Can you imagine how sad that's going to make the whole school?"

"Oh," Hermione said. "I didn't know..."

"Whatever," Ginny said quickly. "They're not happening until Friday next week, so... let's not think about them. Okay?"

"Okay," Hermione agreed softly, nodding her head.

There was a thick silence after the abrupt ending to their short conversation about that particular topic. Ginny was just reaching for the cake again when Dean broke the silence. Ginny and Hermione were slightly annoyed – despite the tension, they hadn't wanted the silence to be disturbed.

"I'm sorry, you know," Dean said, looking up at Hermione.

"Sorry for what?" Hermione snapped, her voice coming out much sharper than she would have liked.

"Your parents. I know the Ministry hasn't found them yet. But they will, soon."

Hermione looked at him, then shrugged as casually as possible. "I know they will."

"Maybe your parents are on a road trip to Ayers Rock or something," Dean said as a lame attempt at a joke.

Hermione responded unenthusiastically. "Maybe."

"I'm sorry about your brother, too, Ginny," Dean said sincerely.

Ginny scoffed. "Why are you apologising for something you never did?"

"He doesn't mean it like that," Hermione said in Dean's place. "It means... _I commiserate_."

"Or _I am sad that you are sad_," Dean added.

Ginny was quiet for a short moment and all that could be heard was the dull noise of the train rolling along its tracks in the darkness. Then she looked up and her fiery red hair fell out her face, revealing two watery eyes and a trembling lip.

"Then we should say we're sorry to the entire school," she whispered, and Hermione wished Dean hadn't broken her walls because now the strongest girl she had ever known was a sorrowful, sobbing mess in front of her.

* * *

Draco cursed as his eyes flew open.

He hadn't slept enough last night. As was usual lately, he spent many an hour reading books and trying to lose himself in another person's world until he had to go back to Hogwarts and face life. Inevitably, he would fall asleep over his books – albeit at a very late hour – and he would dream. He would dream so vividly that it almost felt real.

Since his father went to Azkaban, he had never slept long enough to complete his dreams. This time, he'd only gotten through about a fifth of his dream, but it was enough.

With a burst of urgency, he flew to his feet and sped out of his room as swiftly as possible. The sounds of his bare fleet slapping the marble floors echoed down the vast hallways of the Manor as he ran down to the front doors. After shoving them open, heavy rain assaulted him while he continued to sprint to the front gate. The peacocks were alarmed at the large, speedy human vaulting towards them and hastened to move out of the shelter a tree had given them from the rain.

Fat raindrops splattered the newspaper that sat on the grassy ground. The headlines read, "LUCIUS MALFOY: DEAD?"

Breathing hard, Draco managing to mutter, "_Incendio!_" The magical flames defied the rain and Draco watched with grim satisfaction as the paper burned and curled in on itself. The picture of his father blackened more and more until it was no longer possible to discern the identity of the man in the picture.

"Goodbye, Father," Draco spat bitterly.

In his dream, his mother had brought the paper into their home and they had read it together. Of course, it was Rita Skeeter writing, simply trying to stir up some controversy about the treatment of prisoners. She was trying to spread rumours that Lucius Malfoy was dead – or dying – because of the cell conditions. Simply bollocks.

Yet his mother had taken it seriously, and that was the moment that she became like an ice statue. Simply a body, with no feeling. Her expression was unreadable, her face and pale and white, and she wouldn't speak. Not when Draco asked questions, not when he screamed in her face, not even when he got on his knees and begged her to make a sound – any sound.

She had loved Lucius. Given her heart to him. But their love was one of those that was doomed to end badly.

Draco panted with relief and used his wand to put out the fire and levitate the charred mess deep into the immaculately-cut hedges.

"Draco?" came a bewildered voice from the doorway. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing there?"

"Just... wanted to feel the rain," Draco lied lamely.

"Well, come back in here," Narcissa said sharply. "You've got to be freezing."

Draco gladly made his way back into the Manor, suddenly aware of how cold it was outside at six in the morning. He shivered as gratefully accepted the towel his mother conjured.

"I suppose I'd better get ready to go, then," Draco murmured.

"Yes," Narcissa agreed.

Draco began to walk back up the stairs, but lingered for a few seconds.

"Just so you know, I love you," he said quickly, and then jogged up the spiral staircase. Just before he entered his room, he looked down to see his mother with unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and he wondered why he didn't tell her more often. She needed to hear it – especially now that her husband was gone.

He got ready and then spent the remainder of his free time reading about old myths and legends. After hastily saying goodbye to his mother, he rushed to the platform, because he wanted to get on the train before anyone saw him. The Malfoys were no longer welcome in the world.

* * *

"Your dream?" Blaise asked casually.

"Incomplete," Draco sighed. "Again."

"You need to stop reading so much, Draco," Blaise advised.

"I _know_," Draco said, tossing his Chocolate Frog into his mouth. After swallowing, he spoke again. "I hate walking around not knowing what's coming. It's like being blind."

"Pretty much everyone else is 'blind', too," Blaise said, raising an eyebrow.

"I know that," Draco snapped. "But, come on. I haven't been blind since I was five. I've grown accustomed to always knowing what will happen next. I'm not used to all these unexpected things."

"So stop reading. When it's lights out, I don't want you casting a _Lumos_ to read another stupid book. You would rather see your full dream than read, wouldn't you?" Blaise asked.

Draco glared at his friend, but conceded. He was in dire need of some coffee thanks to his lack of sleep.

Pansy entered their compartment suddenly, plopping down next to Draco. She sighed with relief and looked as though she'd just been through a workout.

"What's going on?" Blaise asked, frowning.

"Gryffindors," Pansy panted, "gone _loco_."

"Haven't they always been?" Blaise muttered, and Draco and Pansy laughed together as the Hogwarts Express rode through the rain in the moonlit night.

* * *

Ginny had calmed down, her sadness instead turning into slight embarrassment at her break in her usually strong demeanour. She, Hermione and Dean were playing a game of Exploding Snap when Neville burst into the compartment, making Hermione shriek and Dean succeed in winning the card.

"Guys, come outside!" Neville urged from the doorway.

"Why, Neville?" Ginny asked, standing up.

"A Gryffindor's just picked on a Slytherin!"

Everyone rushed outside, where people were slowly filling the corridors and making it impossible to see anything. Hermione struggled to squeeze in the tight groups everyone had formed right in the middle of the corridor.

"Sorry – excuse me –" Hermione muttered as she pushed past everyone, and gasped.

On the floor lay a young blond Slytherin, probably in third year. His face, though, was covered in disgusting boils bursting every few seconds with a putrid-smelling liquid and spellin out something that both chilled Hermione and made her furious at the same time.

_House of Death Eaters._

"I thought we were going to put this behind us!" Hermione shouted loudly, so that everyone could hear, including whoever the culprit was. Everyone stilled and turned their heads to face her.

"We just went through a war!" Hermione cried out angrily. She turned to the Slytherin and held out her hand to help him up, but he cursed at her and looked up at her with such venom that Hermione immediately retracted her hand, as thought he were a poisonous snake. And, sadly, to some people, he was.

The boy got on his feet and ran to the Slytherin end of the train, moving behind the wall of indignant, furious Slytherins. A bit further on the group, Hermione caught a glimpse of platinum blonde and grey eyes that pierced her own. Malfoy glared at her with pure, raw vengeance clear on his face.

The Gryffindors would have to watch their backs.

Hermione turned away and stalked back to her compartment, already unhappy with the events of the day.

But then she swiftly turned around, and walked with strides so wide that she reached the group of Slytherins within a few seconds. She pushed them aside violently and raised her arm, ready to slap Malfoy in her anger. The slap would be worse than third year – oh yes, she would make her hand's imprint visible on his cheek for days. Hermione was enraged that he had looked at her so hatefully right after she'd plainly shown she was against this type of treatment towards Slytherins. And, though she hated to admit it, there was still some residual hostility she felt towards him. How could there not be when he had been a bigoted bully for five years?

So she raised her arm, prepared to hit him so hard he would cry, before a sharp pain exploded through her head and she cried out in pain, holding her head in her hands. For a split second, she thought she saw Neville punching Draco in her mind.

And all of a sudden, Draco was holding his bloody nose, Neville looked both amazed and appaled at what he had just done, and Hermione's headache was too strong to let her think clearly. Her thoughts were all jumbled together like an overgrown jungle as the pain exploded in her brain. She had to bit her lip to stop from crying out.

As she watched Draco's legs retreat, the only coherent thought in her head was: _What on Earth?_

**OOO**

_For: _Multi-Chapter Boot Camp (talking to myself), The Weekly Updater Competition, The Key Signature Competition (E Major), 'As Strong as we are United' Competition (gentle, blue, star, coffee), The Forbidden Relationship Competition

_Author's Notes: _Welcome to my first multi-chapter. Let's see if I can _not_ quit on this story. Any plot bunnies? Review with them! :D

As for how the paper gets to Malfoy Manor... It just does.


	2. The Classroom Prelude

**Berceuse**

**Chapter Two: The Classroom Prelude**

**By ****_only breath_**

**OOO**

"But Madam Pomfrey, we're missing the speeches," Neville complained disappointedly. "There could be really important stuff."

"No whining," Pomfrey snapped, applying a sticky, blue substance to the black patches on his skin. "Your friends will catch you up."

Straight after Neville had so brazenly and stupidly punched Draco in the face, an anonymous Slytherin had cursed him, causing unattractive patches of black, leather-like skin to appear on his normal pale skin. This caused him to look rather similar to a cow, and several Slytherins had yelled out, "Moo!" with amused laughs and infuriatingly superior smirks. Hermione had just moaned with her migraine, and eventually Ginny led the two to the Hospital Wing.

"Madam Pomfrey," Hermione muttered quietly, careful not to let the thick sludge precariously smothered over her forehead slide down into the bushy hair that puffed out on either side of her still form

"Yes?" Pomfrey replied distractedly, dabbing the black patches of Neville's skin skilfully.

"What do you think caused my migraine?" Hermione asked, thinking over it herself. Maybe her conscience had decided to stab her brain to stop her from hitting Draco... Well, it was a far-fetched idea, considering the fact that Hermione would have probably hit the damned ferret with next to no regrets.

"Haven't the foggiest," Pomfrey said. "Perhaps someone cursed you, but I have never heard of a curse that gives you a strong headache."

Hermione gave a little grunt. She was terribly confused by the whole ordeal. What was with that image she'd had of Neville and Draco? It was almost like she'd spontaneously decided to practice Divination... without a crystal ball or teacup full of dregs. She was also slightly disappointed that her headache had prevented her from hitting Draco, but she knew it was better when she didn't participate in violence

The sludge on her forehead was letting the pain of her headache seep away like blood out of a wound, and for that she was thankful. The downside was that she had to stay very still, looking up at the bland ceiling, and her neck was getting painfully stiff.

"There," Hermione heard Madam Pomfrey declare with satisfaction. "Now, you stay here until I come back to dismiss you. The same goes for you, Miss Granger."

Her footsteps led from Neville's bed to outside the Hospital Wing, and then there was a faint clack as Pomfrey gently closed the oak doors. Hermione sighed, studying the ivy engravings on the ceiling. She had been looking forward to the speeches, while at the same time dreading them. She was immensely curious as to what McGonagall would say, but she knew there would be a long, sad speech about all those who had died in the final battle, and Hermione didn't want to be there when everyone started crying. It made her uncomfortable to be around sad people because she felt obligated to cheer them up, and how would she cheer up a whole hall full of people?

"Neville, is there anyone else here?" Hermione asked when she realised that the only sounds were of her and Neville's breathing.

"No, it's just us," she heard Neville reply. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, you know," Hermione answered casually. "It's just odd to have conversations with other people eavesdropping."

Neville emitted a little noise of agreement.

Hermione wanted to ask him about the strange vision she'd had, without actually disclosing the fact that she'd seen it. She didn't want to tell anyone for a few reasons. First, it had been so short that Hermione wasn't sure if she'd actually seen it. Second, she'd had an immense headache and maybe her brain wasn't functioning properly. And third, whoever she told would think she'd finally gone round the twist

Now, how could she word this?

"Um, Neville...?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Did you, er, _see_ anything in particular before you hit Malfoy? I mean, in your head?" Hermione worded cautiously, cringing at how silly she sounded.

"See?" Neville repeated, perplexed.

"Yeah, you know. In your mind," Hermione struggled to explain.

"Um... I suppose I saw imagined myself hitting Draco, and I imagined him bursting into tears... I didn't imagine the pain in my knuckles, though," Neville chuckled.

"No, not imagine... I mean, did you see anything involuntarily? Like a vision?" Hermione persisted, finding it difficult to skirt around the fact that she'd seen something.

She could imagine Neville frowning in confusion. "What are you talking about, Hermione?"

"Never mind," Hermione sighed. "I'm not really sure, myself."

They shared some idle chit-chat about their holidays, both impatiently waiting for Madam Pomfrey to get back to the Hospital Wing and let them go. By the time she finally did, any trace of Hermione's severe headache had disappeared and Neville's skin looked as though it had been soaked in a miracle skin-beautifying potion. Pomfrey helped to wipe the sludge off of Hermione's head and the goo off of Neville's skin. Both felt much better after their visit to the Hospital Wing, and they walked down to the Great Hall together.

The clatter of cutlery against plates and the rumble of conversation were audible even when Neville and Hermione couldn't see the door. They entered the Hall and marvelled at how well the whole place had been restored. Even the enchanted ceiling had been fully restored and was now representing the night sky's stars with vivid clarity that had been previously absent. Taking their seats with the others at the Gryffindor table, they piled their plates high with the delicious-smelling food on offer.

"You missed a lot, you guys," Parvati said, addressing Neville and Hermione.

"A long speech about the war?" Hermione said, sipping her pumpkin soup slowly.

"No. Well, yes, but there were other things," Parvati laughed. "Announcements. There are changes to the curriculum, a few new teachers, that sort of stuff."

"And there's a Remembrance Dance soon, sometime in the third week," Ginny added.

"And the funerals, in the second week," Parvati said grimly.

"Oh, and you're Head Girl," Ginny finished casually.

Hermione frowned, and then laughed at Ginny's casual demeanour, wanting very badly to squeal. Ginny grinned and presented her with her very own Head Girl badge.

"I now pronounce you Supreme Ruler of Hogwarts and Grand Master of House Points," she announced, pinning the badge to Hermione's robe, while Hermione tried fruitlessly to control her laughter.

"Who's Head Boy?" she asked curiously when she stopped giggling.

Ginny jerked head towards the Ravenclaw table. "Michael Corner. You and he will be planning the Remembrance Dance."

"How come I didn't get a letter about being Head Girl?" Hermione wondered, her brow furrowed.

"McGonagall wanted it to be a surprise, I think," Parvati said.

"Oh. That's nice," Hermione remarked, stirring her soup.

"You also have meetings with the prefects. I suppose Michael will tell you when you need to come. Anyway, give us fifty points," Ginny demanded, smiling from ear to ear.

"What?" Hermione yelped. _Fifty points?_ What on Earth for?

"I have a friend in a position of power. I'm not going to let this opportunity go to waste. Fifty points to Gryffindor, Hermione," Ginny repeated slyly, breaking off a piece of bread.

"No way," Hermione said, laughing shamelessly at Ginny's disappointed expression.

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny moaned, and she continued to pester Hermione until it was time to go to bed.

The dormitory felt odd without Lavender there. Ginny remained adamant that she felt extremely uncomfortable taking Lavender's place, but the girls all insisted she join them. It wasn't against the rules this year to change dorms, so Ginny gave in with a grumble and hopped into bed.

"I really miss Lavender," Parvati sighed in the darkness.

Hermione pulled her sheets up to her chin, snapping out of her long train of thought. "So do I. I honestly didn't think I would miss her that much, but you only truly realise what you have until it's gone."

"She's still here," came Ginny's gentle voice. "Looking over us. We just can't see her."

Hermione snuggled into her soft sheets, considering Ginny's words.

"At least I have Padma," Parvati mused, and Hermione couldn't help but smile at how much life and enthusiasm was put into that one sentence.

"Good night, girls," she muttered, yawning and letting her eyes flutter shut.

* * *

The early morning rays of sunlight filtered through the gaps between the curtains, casting light over the boys' dormitory. Soft snores came from all beds but Draco's.

The blond boy groggily raised himself and sighed. Yet again, his sleep had lasted for two or three hours. He'd hoped that his insomnia would get better once he got to school, but evidently, Hogwarts didn't do anything to aid him. He looked at the boys snoring away peacefully in their sheets of satin emerald, full of envy.

Why couldn't he sleep like them? What was preventing him? He didn't care about his father. When that man went to Azkaban, Draco had felt a multitude of emotions: surprise, disappointment – but certainly no sadness, and he was secretly pleased by his father's arrest. So why was it that on the night of his father's arrest, Draco had been unable to sleep properly?

Last night, he'd gotten through a third of his dream; it was about eleven o'clock dream time when Draco woke up.

In the bed opposite his, Blaise began to stir, his body moving beneath his duvet. Draco sighed once more and rolled out of bed.

* * *

"This, my dear students, is my assistant Professor Magnus Porridge," announced Slughorn.

Porridge was a short little man with a jolly smile and rosy red cheeks. His thumbs hooked onto the hoops in his bright yellow belt, which barely managed to contain his enormous belly. His clothes were unique, to say the least, and the tired Hermione believed that the eccentric clothing reflected his personality. Slughorn's newest helper was going to be an interesting character.

The Potions classroom was stuffy and hot. Hermione's hair had turned into a bird's nest and girls were quietly complaining about their sweaty skin. Coats and scarves were discarded all over the desks and floor, as the class was crowded around the teacher's wide desk.

On it stood a collection of crystal vials and steaming cauldrons. There were also a few trinkets and tiny machines that none of the students had seen before, like the glass ball full of potion that spun by itself and the strange scale-like thing upon a glass box of potion. Each side of the "scales" rose and fell in a steady rhythm, just like a seesaw. Each time the box of potion would be hit, a little _ting_ would sound, as though little musical raindrops were falling.

"Now, Professor Porridge will help me with the demonstration of this curious little instrument, called a Gastificator," Slughorn said rolling up his sleeves and gently stopping the movement of the tinging trinket. Porridge helped to take off the scale-like part while Slughorn showed his audience the liquid inside. The forest green concoction smelled faintly of chocolate and was emitting a bright blue gas.

"The Gastificator," Slughorn continued, "is a clever little invention that tests a sample of potion. Now, listen carefully, as you will be using Gastificators later this year. The way to use it is to pour a bit of your potion in here, and place the cover on top."

Porridge carefully placed the cover and the scale-like part back on the box. It began tinging and seesawing at once.

"What happens," Slughorn explained, "is that the machine detects poison in the potion. You see this part here that looks like scales?"

Hermione nodded with the rest of the class.

"We call this the Indicator. Its magic-infused metal detects the presence of poison inside the glass box and becomes disturbed, thus causing it to go up and down."

"So does that mean the potion inside is toxic, Professor?" Seamus asked, squinting at the box

"That's correct, Mr. Finnigan," Slughorn confirmed.

"We breathed it in!" Parvati cried frantically. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"Do not fret, Miss Patil. It can only harm you if it reaches your stomach or blood," Slughorn responded calmly. Parvati visibly relaxed and focused her attention back on the teacher.

Porridge gave the tiny to a student to pass around. Each person examined the Gastificator curiously, poking and prodding the Indicator. Sadly, the Gastificator's demise was soon.

In her defence, Hermione _had_ taken quite a while to get to sleep, and it was because of her fatigue that she fumbled with the Gastificator after Susan Bones had passed it to her. She squealed with surprise as the machine fell from between her fingers and smashed into tiny glass shards, the dark green potion inside spilling all over the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione cried out, bending down to scoop up the glass. Her sharp intake of breath as the glass cut her hand revealed that this was a bad move.

"It's of no matter, Granger," Slughorn said hastily. "Don't let that potion into your blood!"

Hermione retreated quickly and Porridge swept away the mess with a simple wave of his wand. That was just the beginning of Hermione's bad day.

* * *

After a completely disastrous Potions lessons full of spontaneously exploding potions, broken cauldrons and the escape of several live potion ingredients (all of which had something to do with Hermione), Hermione Granger was ready to go back to bed. But she still had two more lessons: Arithmancy and Defence Against the Dark Arts, so she reluctantly dragged her tired soul to Arithmancy.

As a highly theoretical subject, Arithmancy provided Hermione with very little chance to show off her newfound clumsiness. Curse her bad sleep last night! Fumbles and stumbles attacked her wherever she went, so she was thankful to be required to sit down in Arithmancy.

"Welcome to another year of Arithmancy," the teacher boomed, startling the entire class. "Because you are technically in seventh year, we will be using that curriculum, as creating an eight year curriculum would be much too hard. Now, let me go over a few ground rules."

Hermione tried to listen. She really did. Yet the temptation of sleeping in class was so sweet and beckoning…

"…no talking without raising your hands," Hermione zoned in long enough to hear, "and certainly no sleeping. I have adopted my uncle's means of punishment; sleep in this class and you may find yourself – ahem – slightly late for your next class."

Oh, Hermione didn't want that. Not at all. She had to stay awake!

As the long lesson went on, numbers and equations clouded in Hermione's brain, an incomprehensible muddle of knowledge that Hermione was too tired to organise. Before she knew it, her head slumped in her arms and she was asleep.

"Now, these numbers are – oh, it looks like I have my first student to test the punishment on," Professor Vector continued in the same dull tone she used for teaching. "What I want you all to do is to leave the room as quietly as possible. You're all dismissed early."

Quiet hisses of, "Yes!" echoed throughout the room as everyone tentatively pulled their seats backwards.

"I'm going to continue talking like this until we are outside. Miss Granger will learn never to sleep in this class," Professor Vector droned monotonously. "Out, everyone."

The students tip-toed outside the doors and Professor Vector silently closed the door. Hermione grunted in her sleep and adjusted her head to be in a more comfortable position.

* * *

She was woken by a cat's meow. Hermione blearily opened her eyes, wondering where she was.

Arithmancy.

"Damn!" she cursed. But where was everyone else?

Ignoring Mrs Norris, she hastily wiped the crust from her eyes and looked down at her watch, grimacing. She was an _hour_ late for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Scooping up her bag in one fluid motion, she sprinted out the door, her hair flying behind her like sort of strange cape. The hallways were dark and empty, shadows lurking in the alcoves.

And then Hermione closed her eyes as pain enveloped her thoughts, except for the one thing breaking through – a vision. Ginny and Neville… a classroom… high-fiving.

Hermione's eyes shot open as the short vision came to end. She gasped as though her throat had just been pressed down on and her wide eyes frantically searched the corridor. Just when she began to walk ahead, she caught a glimpse of white-blond hair in the alcoves, but it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Clearing her throat and adjusting her scarlet tie, she strode onwards.

**OOO**

_For: _ASAWAU Comp (sunshine, raindrops, cat, joy, scarf) – The Forbidden Relationship Comp – Multi-Chapter Boot Camp (on the floor) – Weekly Updater Competition – 100k Multi-Chapter Competition – Prove Me Wrong Challenge – The super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot multichapter competition

_Author's Note: _Thanks for all the reviews on my last chapter. (: The title of this chapter refers to school classes just beginning. I wrote half of this during classes where laptops are allowed, and it was funny because my teacher started comparing porridge and magma just as I was describing Professor Porridge.

I have an unhealthy addiction to dividers.


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